Derelict For Trade

4

"That's the last of them," Van Ryke said, three fingers tapping with practiced speed on his hand comp. "Twelve cases of stridulation unguent."

"Seems most of this was meant for Kanddoyd trade," Dane said.

The cargo master nodded. "Certainly the unguent."

Dane ran his gloved hand over the cases of small containers, trying to recall what he’d read about the insectoid race. "What’s it for? Alterations in stridulation tones, isn’t it?"

Van Ryke gave a nod. "Indeed: a sonic analogue of perfume. Kanddoyd fashions also run to these carapace jewels." He held up a large, faceted jewel mounted on a kind of small corkscrew whose sharp tip glittered coldly in the yellow light from overhead. Dane shuddered even though he knew the Kanddoyd carapace was largely nerveless.

"And these cosmetic rasps, as well." Van Ryke grinned at him. "It might help if you thought of them as oversize fingernail files—that’s pretty much their function."

Dane returned his grin as he pointed at another row of containers. "What about those?"

"My guess is that the metallo-paints are used by the Shver for clan rituals. Those scented wood chips are somewhat of a mystery, but I doubt they are a high-pri item. The solvents and alloys and friction preventives are standard trade for habitats."

"So it all came from Exchange," Dane said.

"Logical," Van Ryke murmured as they crossed the bay a last time.

Dane could feel the extra quarter-gee in his thighs. Free Traders rarely boosted over one gravity except in emergencies, which this was. But at least their trajectory was now aimed away from the Kanddoyd habitats, so they need not fear destruction by the habitat antimeteor defenses.

"After all, the fuel was full, so they had to be starting their journey, rather than ending it. And since there is nothing here of startling value, one must assume something went amiss with the crew. Sickness, or a parasite—"

"Unless it was an attack," Dane said. "That scar on the hull."

"Could be old," Van Ryke said. "They wouldn’t necessarily need to fix the fairing if they transported between habitats. It would only be dangerous if they attempted to enter a planet’s atmosphere."

"Then there’s the empty bay." Dane indicated the deck below them.

"Something might have been removed from it," Van Ryke conceded, "or it might have been empty all along. Unless Ya can read the script, we won’t have a clue, I’m afraid. But more to the point, with this minimally valuable cargo, we’re going to have fewer options for dealing." He sighed and looked at his chrono. "My time is up. The captain will be cutting boost in a moment, and I’m for the Queen. I’ll tally the numbers, and start researching these items more thoroughly." He smiled at Dane. "Disappointing as our cargo seems to be, our experiences on Sargol should serve as a reminder of the potential of the most unexpected items."

"Catnip," Dane said. Inwardly he winced. He knew that Van Ryke was thinking only of the advantage the Queen had gained over their rivals of Inter-Solar when the indigenous people of Sargol had discovered the Queen's catnip—but Dane’s memory went right back to the near disaster he’d avoided only by luck when he’d thoughtlessly given the native youngster the sprig of catnip without even thinking about its possible lethal potential to another species.

Van Ryke did not throw past mistakes into anyone’s face. Dane appreciated this, and reluctantly gave himself some credit for not making the same mistakes twice.

As he looked around the silent ship, he felt the impact of Wilcox’s earlier words. It seemed he was about to be promoted—and this ship

would be his first assignment as full cargo master. He felt an intense amalgam of emotions, with pride and apprehension foremost.

He’d learned a lot since that first day he stepped aboard the Queen at Terraport, but he still had so much more to learn!

A shrill chime sounded, an alien sound very different from the gee-warning Klaxon of the Queen. Automatically Dane triggered his magboots and grabbed the wall grips near the lock, as did Van Ryke. Moments later the subdued whistle of the engines faded and Dane could hear the structure of the ship creak around them as acceleration ceased.

"Coming, my boy?" Van Ryke stepped into the lock.

"I’ll wait for the next boost pause, so I can look around a little more," Dane said. "Might find something else we’ve overlooked so far."

"Good idea," Van Ryke said, and closed the hatch. Dane watched the lights flicker, indicating the drop in air pressure, then he turned away, demagnetized his boots, and pushed off down the corridor, not thinking, just—observing.

Already he liked the spaciousness of the ship. He didn’t feel the ceiling crowding the top of his head. The hatchways were higher as well.

He tabbed open one of the cabin doors and pulled himself through, looking around. Rip had already reported all personal effects having been stripped away, but right now Dane was just interested in the layout.

The cabin had the same basic components that just about any ship had: storage, bed, console. A narrow door on the other side opened onto a fresher. Dane noted that the water nozzles were higher than those on the Queen—as if designed for tall people.

A glimpse of color caught his eye. He looked down and saw something blue lying in a corner. He bent, picked it up. It was just a mug, with no handle, its color a deep cobalt blue that instantly appealed to Dane. Miraculously unbroken despite the changes in acceleration, its weight was impossible to guess in the microgravity of the ship, but its mass was pleasing. It seemed to have some heft, and as he wrapped his gauntleted hand around it, he realized it fit nicely into his palm. No worrying about dropping or cracking something like this, as he’d worried about most

Terran-made dishes since he was about fifteen.

As he looked down at the cup in his hands, he felt a jolt inside, as if acceleration had suddenly resumed. For a moment it wasn’t his hands he saw holding that cup, but an unknown being’s hands, holding something long familiar.

The chime shrilled again, and Dane braced himself. Acceleration returned smoothly. Rip and Wilcox hadn’t taken long to master the alien engines. Perhaps they felt as he did: that the crew of this ship had not been so alien after all.

He found a cupboard and put the cup in it, then retreated to the cabin, scanning it slowly. He saw the high seat, and on a portion of bulkhead near the fold-down console, a well-scuffed spot, as if the unknown inhabitant had habitually rested his or her feet there. Dane lowered himself onto the seat, leaned back and placed one boot on the scuffed rest, looked up—and there was the tri-D screen, placed at the perfect angle for perusal.

Despite the lack of belongings, subtle evidence was all around, indicating that this cabin had been someone’s home, probably for a long time.

He rose suddenly and backed out, a conviction forming in his mind.

As he made his way toward the bridge, his eyes kept noting little signs of accustomed use, hints of personality. This ship had fit her unknown crew of Traders just like the Queen fit Dane’s crewmates, and he wondered what a stranger would think coming aboard the Queen and looking around as he was doing right now. Would its worn spots and narrow, quirky design make it just another old ship—or would the visitor recognize it as someone’s home?

On the bridge Steen Wilcox and Rip Shannon were busy at the consoles, experimenting with tools and hand comps. Both glanced up when he entered, and in their eyes, framed by their helmet visors, he saw question.

"I think we should find out what happened," he said to Rip.

Both of them stopped their work, and faced him.

"Find something?" Rip asked.

Dane gave his head a shake; the cup wasn’t important. What he had to do was fit his ideas into words that made sense. "No good crew would just jump ship. Not a crew that’s been with one ship a long time. The crew on this one had been here long—the evidence is all around. If we’re going to take over their ship, well, I think we owe it to them to find out what happened. If we can."

Wilcox leaned back against the captain’s pod. "That’s not going to be easy—or cheap. Why? They’re gone. There’s nothing we can do about that."

Rip looked from Wilcox to Dane. "Maybe I see. You’re thinking of the Queen, aren’t you?"

Dane nodded, and Rip gave them a grim smile. "I have to say, I’d like to think someone would find out what happened to us, if the Queen was found empty, orbiting some distant planet."

Wilcox shrugged, and turned back to the unfamiliar nav-comp. His interests obviously lay with the intricacies of the mysterious computer, not with the equally mysterious people who had used it. "You clear it with the Old Man, I’ll do what I can to help. But I think this plan of yours is like jumping into hyper with fog for coordinates."

Dane said, "Might be no one will thank us for finding out. If we can find out. Could be it would lead to trouble. But I have to know."

"It seems more honest," Rip said slowly. "I think Thorson’s right."

"What it is, is more trouble," Steen Wilcox said with a wry smile. "If all you uncover is some planet-bound distant family members who decide they want to lay blood claim and collect the price of a ship. But, as I said, it’s your game. If the captain backs you, I’ll do what I can to help."

Dane nodded, relieved. He sensed a kind of approval in the atmosphere—though he knew that was just fanciful thinking. "I’ll ask him as soon as I get back."

Miceal Jellico entered the last of his report into his log, then sat back in his chair and rubbed his burning eyes. How long had he been awake now?

He’d lost count of the hours long ago.

The ship was quiet; everything was under control. It was time to rack up. But first.

"Eeeeeyaaaagh!"

Jellico looked up at the blue hoobat, who stared back in typical detachment. "Yergh," Queex squawked again, and spat.

"Forgotten you, have I?" Jellico asked, and swung his arm out, hitting the hoobat’s cage, which rocked and swung on its specially made springs. Queex grumbled and squeaked in contentment, its back four legs nestling and the two upper claws gripping the worn post. The hoobat appeared to settle down to sleep.

Jellico looked longingly at his bunk, but the insistent growling in his stomach reminded him that his last meal had been before his last rest. He got to his feet, tabbed his door open—and the smell of real coffee drifted in. Real, fresh, hot coffee, not the syntho coffee substitute called jakek that the crew made do with when times were lean.

He smiled to himself at this unspoken reminder, sent to him by his steward, that he needed to eat. Frank Mura would never nag. He simply set up an irresistible lure like this coffee, and made certain the air currents somehow carried the aroma from the galley to the captain’s cabin.

He found Mura seated in his familiar alcove just off the galley, to all intents and purposes totally absorbed in the delicate process of creating another of his plasglas-bound miniature landscapes.

"I thought we were out of coffee," Jellico said.

Frank glanced up with the seeming imperturbability of his Japanese ancestors. "I had a bit left. Since we’re docking soon, thought I might as well brew it up before it goes stale."

Jellico took in a deep, appreciative breath as he drew a steaming mug.

"There’s rice and vegetables as well, and some spiced kursta sauce to go over it," Mura added without turning around.

Jellico found the plate waiting, the food hot and fresh.

He carried it and his coffee into the mess, and sat down. Four crew members were already there, empty plates set aside, hot drinks before them. The three men had not heard Jellico, who habitually walked soundlessly, come in; of the group only Rael Cofort looked up. She sent him a considering blue glance that was impossible to interpret, then turned her attention back to the others.

Ali’s back was to Jellico. He had a recorder at hand. As the captain watched, the engineer apprentice keyed it, saying, "All right, how about this one?"

A weird sound emanated from the recorder, a quick sound that reminded Jellico of someone tapping a bow on a viola.

"I know," Dane Thorson said. The big cargo apprentice knuckled one vast hand through his yellow hair, making it spike up, as he said, "Agreement, with Elements of Distrust."

Ali hooted. "Wrong, old boy. Agreement, with Elements of Question."

Dane shook his head. "The question noise drops down a note on each beat. Whoop, whoop, whoop. Distrust sounds more like that did— ik, ik, ik . Surprise is even faster, like kee-keekeek."

"Bet," Ali said promptly.

Dane snorted. "Play the tape."

Ali slapped his hand on the recorder—and a dispassionate human voice said, "Kanddoyd emotional modification indicating Agreement, with Elements of Distrust."

Dane grinned, Ali groaned, and Jasper Weeks snorted a quiet laugh.

"Another," Ali demanded. "One more."

Dane sighed. "Go ahead, but you’ve been right three out of—"

"Who’s counting?" Ali cut in.

"Three out of eighteen," Dane finished remorselessly. "If I’d taken any of your bets, you’d be doing my chores for the next five years."

Ali threw up his hands in mock despair as the other three laughed at him. "All right, all right, I concede. Piqued, repiqued, slammed, and capotted, as my grandfather used to say. I see I have a week of studying ahead of me."

Dane said, suddenly serious, "We’ll need that smooth tongue of yours. We sure can’t afford to buy any data. And remember, this is just Trade lingo. There’s a whole ’nother set of overtones we can’t even hear." He nudged Jasper. "Show him."

Jasper pulled back his sleeve and showed the others a brooch band.

"Hmm. Handsome," Ali said. "Didn’t know you were a man for jewelry."

"Not," Jasper said. "It’s an ultrasonic detector I put together."

"We broke open a small case of the carapace jewels," Dane said. "Put this together—Weeks is making one for Jan and another for me. The detectors will let us hear some of the Kanddoyds’ ultrasonics, but about all we’ll know is that something else is being said. We haven’t any translators for High Kanddoyd, and won’t be able to afford them."

Ali rose to his feet with a loud sigh. "And here I had my leave time all planned out."

"Cheer up," Jasper said. "You couldn’t afford it anyway."

Ali waved him off, turned, and all three noticed Jellico sitting behind them. The captain repressed the urge to smile at the variety of expressions on their faces, each characteristic of its owner. Dane, of course, looked abashed. Ali grinned, hiding his surprise behind a mask of amused indifference. Jasper Weeks nodded respectfully, his shy gaze dropping to his hands. Rael Cofort, of course, smiled with her customary maddeningly enigmatic control.

"I’m for the rack," Ali said. "Thanks to you, to dream of Kanddoyds rubbing their exoskeletons in tuneful harmony."

"Just make sure you interpret them right," Dane said, with a salute to the captain before he followed Ali out.

Jasper Weeks drank off his mug, put it in the recycler, then softly bid everyone a good sleep. A moment later he was gone.

Rael Cofort rose and made to follow, her graceful form showing no sign of the high acceleration, but when she paused to glance back, Jellico gave in to impulse and stayed her with a gesture.

Her brows rose slightly, and he opened his hand in open invitation.

She sat down across from him, both her small, capable hands closed on her mug. She said nothing, but looked at him in question.

He glanced up briefly, his gaze not missing any detail: the long, auburn hair worn in a braided crown round her head, the thick-lashed dark blue eyes, the slight build mostly hidden in a too-large brown Trader’s tunic.

"How are the cats?" he asked.

"Recovering rapidly," she said. "If the tests for unknown biota continue to prove negative, we ought to be able to let them roam after we dock."

He nodded, and as she seemed poised to get up again, he pointed with his chin toward the place where the four had been sitting. "Still studying the crew?"

She countered lightly, "Am I hearing Question with Elements of Distrust?" Her eyes narrowed. "I thought I proved my intentions were honest."

He realized he’d started all wrong. The woman had proved herself trustworthy several times over—more than any of his other crew had had to do. And by now she probably knew it, and with typical compassion did not resent it. He owed her honesty, at least. "You’re a valued member of the Queen's crew," he said. "They all trust you. As do I. I’ll rephrase the question: do you think it’s necessary to study the others?"

The corners of her well-shaped mouth deepened. "That makes it sound like I regard them as lab experiments."

"Don’t you?"

"Of course not. What makes you think I did?" She looked surprised—and a little wary.

Jellico frowned, trying to sort through his reactions. Everything he said to Cofort came out sounding antagonistic. He knew why. It had nothing to do with her brother being a rival, and very successful, Trader. It was simply because he found her attractive, so attractive he tried to counterbalance his reaction with a dispassionate attitude. "The way you talk to them. Ask questions about their backgrounds."

Rael Cofort smiled wryly. "I know the old Trader etiquette: you don’t ask a person’s past. I just happen to think it’s wrong. It sets up an artificial barrier between people, keeps an artificial distance between them. A ship is like a family, or should be."

Jellico frowned, thinking this over. "In my own training I was told repeatedly that we need those boundaries, for the physical boundaries of a ship moving for weeks through hyper are cramped enough."

"Have you found that to be true?" she asked.

He shrugged slightly, drinking a sip of coffee. "My first posting—I was younger than Thorson when he came to us— the captain took me aside and said, ’Keep your background and your opinions to yourself. The less the others know, the less they’ll use against you if there’s a squabble. Found out later there’d been two deadly fights. I’ve followed that advice ever since, and never regretted it."

Her long eyelashes lowered over her eyes, effectively shuttering their expression. He looked at the sweep of those lashes on her cheek, then transferred his gaze to the reflections in his coffee.

"So you’re warning me not to talk to the crew, is that it?"

He repressed an impatient exclamation. "No," he said. "I guess I’m telling you why they are the way they are. A crew picks up the captain’s habits, sometimes. They’re all quiet, not by orders, but by inclination. Custom. Habit. But we’ve gotten on well together."

She nodded soberly.

"Then there’s the fact that you’re the only female. It’s bound to make a difference. The last female we had was Thorson’s predecessor. She hated

serving on a ship full of men."

Cofort smiled slightly. "I know. She came to my brother, remember? She’s now happily berthed on a ship with mostly women. But I think I can fit in here, if I am permitted to go about it my own way. Can you trust me to do that?"

He swallowed off his coffee, wishing it would make his brain work faster. "I will, but... just use caution. Especially with the younger ones. Kamil will be all right—I think he was born sophisticated—but, well, Thorson is at the other end of the spectrum. He might take your friendly interest as. well, something else."

Her eyes widened, and her mouth curved in a delightful smile. Jellico looked at the reflection of the bulkhead lights sparking in the deep blue of her gaze, then picked up his fork and made himself busy with it.

"I don’t think you need to worry," she said, a quiver of laughter in her voice. "Part of our training in psych was in what you might call professional presentation. I have been very careful to project the aura of a fond older sister, and I think Dane will eventually accept me as such." She gave way suddenly to a low chuckle, soft and attractive. "Anything else and I think the poor soul would jump off the Queen and fly along in vacuum. He’s terrified of women!"

"He’s never known any," Jellico said. "Not socially, anyway. Orphan, went straight to Pool, and then to us. Did nothing in between times but work and study."

She nodded, unsurprised, and he realized belatedly that of course she must have read everyone’s medical files. A good ship’s doctor would, and Tau had made it clear he accepted her as a colleague.

As his fork absently pushed Mura’s excellent food around on his plate, he reflected how glad he was that his own file contained only the briefest details about his medical history, and nothing else.

"Good night," Rael Cofort said, rising to her feet. "Sleep well."

"You too, Doctor."

A moment later he was alone with his meal, and his thoughts.